Dashiell returned after five weeks, not three.
Liora was in the library when she heard his voice in the entrance hall, speaking with Finlo about luggage. Her whole body went rigid, every nerve ending suddenly alive.
"Don't," she whispered to herself. "Don't react. Don't feel. Don't—"
"Liora." His voice came from the doorway.
She turned slowly. He looked terrible—thinner, exhausted, shadows under his eyes. Like he hadn't slept in weeks.
Good, part of her thought viciously. I haven't either.
"Dashiell. Welcome back." Her voice was carefully neutral.
His eyes traveled over her, stopping at her stomach. The bump was pronounced now at eighteen weeks, impossible to miss.
"You're showing more," he said, his voice rough.
"That's what happens during pregnancy. Babies grow."
"Has he—" Dash
